<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>imagine what it'd be like by 152glasslippers</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675269">imagine what it'd be like</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/152glasslippers/pseuds/152glasslippers'>152glasslippers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Future Fic, M/M, Post-Season/Series 04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:21:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>544</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/152glasslippers/pseuds/152glasslippers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Sometimes I imagine what it'd be like to</em><br/>show you I'm alive. The thrill of it. The sharp<br/>inhale. The nerve exposed. The bone.
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Derek and Stiles, reunited.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>imagine what it'd be like</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmmayy/gifts">agentmmayy</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For being a bright and shining star. 💖<br/>(inspired by the poem "First Love" by Kate Baer)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He dreams.</p>
<p>Repeat performances of their past life, their younger selves, younger than they are now and already so much older than they had any right to be. His eyes, their fear, the recognition there. A hand on his chest, stubble on a sharp jaw. Stiles’ fingers wrapped around Derek’s ribs; Derek’s fingers clenched around his wrist.</p>
<p>He dreams of innumerable possible nows. Derek in New York, in South America with Cora, in a cabin in the woods where no one can find him, where he can run and still stay in one place. Derek as a student, Derek as a baseball coach. A landscaper, a writer, a woodworker. In these dreams, he isn’t hunted, but he’s hiding. There's contentment but no peace.</p>
<p>Stiles tries to forget the nightmares.</p>
<p>He dreams of one future. The two of them, reunited. He dreams of finding him, finally, of knocking on his door, Derek’s body filling the doorframe, Stiles shouldering his way inside. It’s no cozy reunion, no heartfelt embrace. It’s messy and raw, the sharp glint of Stiles’ words flashing in the blue twilight, taunting. <em>See? You’re not the only one who can tear open flesh with his teeth.</em></p>
<p>Stiles’ flesh tears, too, every question ripping stitches on wounds he’s spent eight years trying to sew shut. <em>Where have you been? Why did you never call? Why did you make it so fucking difficult to find you? Why didn’t you think I’d care?</em> He dreams of letting it all loose, every thought and feeling he’s kept trapped in a steel cage since the day he met Derek in the woods. Since the day Stiles realized he was too much, that if anyone knew the truth, the volume, of what he thought and felt, he’d crush them under the weight.</p>
<p>But Derek is solid and Derek isn’t afraid of him and Stiles dreams of putting himself in Derek’s path, face to face, only this time not to argue but to beg, to <em>plead</em> with him. To listen, to see.</p>
<p>The way Stiles' breath comes faster when they’re close. How he inhales more deeply, exhales more freely. The way his pulse thrums through his entire body, a symphony of vessels and veins. The scent of his tears. Sorrow, loneliness, longing. How he wants, how he loves. How, for the first time in his life, his heart doesn’t skip a beat. Because he’s finally laid himself bare.</p>
<p>In his dreams, he doesn’t hold back. In his dreams, Derek doesn’t either. In his dreams, Derek sees right through him.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>Certain futures are inevitable. They meet.</p>
<p>It happens on the porch of the restored Hale house. It isn’t at all like he dreamed.</p>
<p>There’s nothing harsh, nothing punishing about it. There’s no bite to it. No weeping, no bleeding. Only Derek, opening the door like he sensed him coming. Stiles doesn’t even have to knock.</p>
<p>He doesn’t have to strip himself down to his scars. He doesn’t have to hold his beating heart in his hands as proof. It’s written all over Derek’s face, etched into his posture. It’s in the shape of his mouth when he says his name, how he smiles around it. It’s in the warmth and gruffness of his voice. Gratitude, relief, joy.</p>
<p>“Stiles.”</p>
<p>Derek already knows.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p>
<p>find me on <a href="https://152glasslippers.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>